


Make The Date

by Alyeen1



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Jensen is devastated, M/M, Misha screwed up, Misha tries to fix things, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 08:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6975928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyeen1/pseuds/Alyeen1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha didn't have time to see Jensen during the winter hiatus 2015/16 which leaves Jensen worried and feeling unwanted. When Misha confesses to him that he can't even make it to Asylum 16 and the trip they wanted to do together, his world comes tumbling down. Will Misha find a way to make it up to Jensen before it is too late for them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make The Date

**Author's Note:**

> The beautiful art is done by wonderfully talented [Gabrielseductivetrickster](http://gabrielseductivetrickster.tumblr.com/). You can find her masterpost [here](http://gabedrawz.tumblr.com/post/145100711284/art-for-the-cocklesbigbang-and-the-lovely).
> 
> Infinite thanks to my magician of a beta-reader [MashiarasDream](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream), who turned this rough diamond into a real jewel.

Jensen dragged himself through the hallway to the elevator. At least the damn thing was already there, so he didn't have to wait. He hadn't felt this tired since last spring when shooting had gone on until sun-up, cause the director had found that 'fitting for the scene'. Not that two in the morning was much better. Jensen let out a deep yawn as he felt the elevator moving. The sensible thing after wrapping up would have been to go home, crash in bed and sleep until ten since he didn't need to be on set before midday. Which was why it was stupid that he was now leaving the elevator of Misha's apartment house. Who needed to be on set tomorrow by eight. Jared would haven given him his Sam-puppy-eyes-look and told him so. One of the reasons why Jensen had fled the set in a hurry, before anyone could knock any sense into him.

Jensen didn't want to be sensible. He wanted to be stupid. He wanted to see Misha.

Well, seeing as far as that was possible at two in the morning.

When he opened the door to Misha's apartment he realized the whole thing might not have been his brightest idea. Not only would he wake Misha, but he hadn't called ahead like he usually did. And they hadn't exactly seen each other often lately. So Misha would definitely not expect him. Actually, it was much more likely that he'd think a burglar was sneaking around his apartment.

"Mish," Jensen whispered as he made his way to the bedroom. At least he knew his way around and wasn't making any burglary-noises. Whatever those were.

"It's me. Don't wake up. And please don't taser me or anything." He was certain Misha didn't own such a brutal weapon, but better to be safe than sorry.

The apartment remained silent, the only sounds audible were his own footsteps. When he rounded the corner he could see Misha's bedroom to the left, the door wide open as always. It was too dark in there to make anything out, but when he strained his ears he could hear faint even breathing.

"Mish," he repeated, standing half in the door frame. Nothing.

This was turning into a really stupid idea. Jensen would just wake Misha from deep slumber, piss him off for interrupting the few hours of sleep he got, Jensen would feel sorry and angry at the same time that Misha couldn't appreciate the gesture, they'd get into a fight and no one would sleep at all. Jensen could see the scene unfolding before his eyes. Not a very pleasant picture.

But there was no going back now. And he wanted to be here. He hadn't seen - or felt - Misha for weeks, so sue him if he was desperate enough to come over for four stolen hours in the middle of the night.

For a moment, Jensen hovered between the bedroom and the bathroom to the right, but decided then that at least he should have fresh breath or not smell like dirt and fake blood when he faced Misha. Being nicely cleaned up could only help his cause.

 

While he brushed his teeth with his very own toothbrush which was a staple on Misha's bathroom shelf by now he tried to mull over what to say when Misha would ask him what he was doing here. 

Apart from the fact that he missed Misha, he came up with nothing. He missed being with Misha. Being alone with him, looking at him, touching him. That was good enough of a reason, wasn't it? It should be, right?

Oh yes, there was this nagging feeling that something was off. An itch Jensen couldn't shake off, a feeling that crept up on him whenever his thoughts wandered to his boyfriend.

Last time they'd spent some time alone together besides quickly exchanged kisses and quickies in trailers had been in Pasadena before Christmas hiatus. It felt years ago. For the first time, they hadn't found time to see each other during the Christmas-break. Not once.

Well, Misha hadn't found time. Jensen had suggested dates, but a family gathering or Random Acts or yana or one of the other million other projects Misha managed to juggle at once had always gotten in the way.

These were all valid reasons, reasons Jensen couldn't say anything against, but they couldn't stop the worry starting to chew on his mind. A worry which grew every time Misha turned him down, until it started to drown out everything else.

Neither Misha's softly spoken apologies nor his unhappy blue eyes when he said 'no' over FaceTime could stop the twinge in his chest.

Jensen had started to feel like an intruder, like he was a pain in Misha's butt, his calls interrupting him from more important things he was doing at the time. Whenever they had an appointment for skyping, Misha wasn't home or on his way to "a thing", their communication narrowing down to excusing phone calls filled with commonplaces.

Jensen hated it. He hated phones. They feigned closeness where there was none, modern technology which led you to believe that the other one was near you, but yet you were only touching a cold screen.

The only thing that had kept the knot in his chest at bay was the promise of England. They had formed the plan on their way back from Rome last year. That they would spend some days together before and after the convention in England next year before the craze that is Rome would consume them again. Just the two of them, somewhere in England, doing whatever they wanted. Some sightseeing, walks on the beach, good food, good beer. Talking. No projects, no appointments. Just them and the green grass of England. Whenever Jensen thought about the moment Misha had suggested it he still broke out into a smile. Misha had spoken so passionately about it, his eyes shining with enthusiasm; Jensen's chest was about to burst from excitement.

The only negative connotation and one of the reasons why the Christmas debacle had formed black clouds of doubt and worry in Jensen's mind was that Misha hadn't suggested any detailed plans yet. None at all. Yes, Misha could be a damn fountain of spontaneity, but normally he was considerate of Jensen's desire for fixed plans. But since no call between them lasted longer than five minutes Jensen didn't even get the chance to mention England much less set any concrete details.

 

Jensen jumped into the small shower, glad to relieve his strained muscles for a minute. His mind went back to the short calls they have had, trying to remember if they had actually spoken about _anything_ specific. All he could remember was small talk and empty phrases.

With a sudden insight, he realized he didn't even didn't know what Misha had given Vicki for Christmas. And Misha's gifts for her were always a reason for stories and laughter. His favorite was still when he gave her a flock of turkeys, including a very active breeder, after she had complained about Thanksgiving's food. Jensen remembered that Thanksgiving fondly, a hundred people crowding Misha's yard, the place filled with laughter, children and beer - yes in that order - and both had spent a wonderful late night when everyone else had gone home.

Whenever he was stressed or alone he liked to go back to that memory. Even though it's been more than a year ago it still held a special place in his heart, bringing back a feeling of happiness and content.

Today it was still a fond memory, but within lay a level of pain Jensen couldn't banish however hard he tried. Pain about the fact that he hadn't been to Misha's for over a year, that Misha didn't seem to find a place for Jensen during holidays anymore, pain that they seemed to have lost some part of their connection.

 

With a sigh he hung the wet towel over the rack and stepped out of the bathroom. The truth was that he hadn't told Misha beforehand of his plans to come over because he was afraid he might hear another 'no'. And Jensen didn't know how many more of those he could take.

In the light from the bathroom he could see Misha on the bed, his long body taking up the middle, his feet looking out from under the covers. He was lying on his left side as he mostly did. All Jensen needed to do was crawl in front of Misha, press his back against him, take his right arm to entwine their fingers in front of him and fall asleep. Like they always slept since Misha had convinced him that he would like it. As well as sleeping naked. And Misha was right. He enjoyed feeling Misha's skin directly on his.

After pondering for a second, Jensen decided to do just that. Maybe Misha wouldn't wake up at all and Jensen would be a, hopefully, pleasant surprise in the morning.

He closed the bathroom door, the apartment plunging back into darkness. With quick steps he tiptoed to the bed, carefully making his way under the covers and shuffling backwards until his back hit skin. He relaxed into the warmth, letting Misha's even breathing soothe him. Jensen fumbled to catch Misha's fingers, loosely caressing the soft spot between thumb and index. It was as if things clicked into the place again like they hadn't for a long time, the nagging in his chest immediately receding. In the moment he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, he felt stirring behind him. _Crap._

"Jensen?" Misha mumbled, but actually pushed a bit closer. Jensen smiled into the darkness. This was good. 

"What' you doin' here, handsome?” Misha's fingers squeezed his a little harder, which was exactly what Jensen needed. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed physical contact with Misha until now. He turned around to steal a small kiss from Misha's lips. "Nothing", he whispered, "go back to sleep. See you in the morning." 

"All righ'." Misha pressed a slight kiss onto Jensen's neck and his heart did another jump. Damn, he was desperate.

 

 ***

 Jensen woke up from a dreamless sleep when an elbow poked him in the side. A groan escaped him. When he wanted to be, Misha could be all bones and limbs.

"Shit, sorry," Misha whispered, "I didn't want to wake you." He was about to untangle his fingers from Jensen's to get up. Not what Jensen wanted. Not at all. He squeezed Misha's fingers so hard that it hurt. A desperate gesture, but he couldn't care less. There was no way Jensen would let him go now.

"It's okay. Would you... do you have another minute?" He coughed and rolled around, making sure their fingers stayed woven together.

Misha looked beautiful. He always did, but Jensen's heart - and dick - did a little leap when he saw the blue eyes, still a bit shrouded from sleep, the disheveled hair and the slightly swollen lips. Morning-Misha was one of his favorites.

A look of confusion crossed over Misha's face, but then his features softened. He nodded understandingly. "Of course." He scooted closer, their noses touching.

"It feels good to see you." Jensen gave Misha's nose a little kiss. There was a lot more he wanted to say, but he didn't want to disturb the moment of intimacy.

Misha smiled (and damn, he had missed that as well) "Same. It's been a long time.” Misha untangled his other arm from under the covers and slowly ruffled Jensen's hair. "Thank you for this lovely surprise." A sigh escaped Misha. "I know it's my fault we haven't seen each other during shooting break." A sad shimmer crowded his blue eyes. Jensen _was_ an open book to Misha. "I'm so sorry. I have too many things on my plate, I didn't pay any attention to how many days I actually had." He licked his lips. "Vicki was not very happy, either."

Jensen ran his free hand over Misha's cheek. It was warm and soft, like he remembered. For him, this felt more real than any lengthy phone call they could have. The itching in his chest wasn't that strong anymore, now that they were actually here. And talking.

"No, I wasn't very happy, but I'm glad I'm here now. That we're both here," he emphasized. Jensen pressed their lips together. The icy knot in him had started to melt. "I missed you," he breathed. "It sucked."

He didn't say that he felt unwelcome, hell, even unwanted. Misha seemed to know anyway what had been going on in Jensen. And that he seemed to be as miserable as Jensen about the situation was good enough for him.

"Just... let's not do it again, okay?" he added for good measure. "I just wanted to spend time with you alone and... it hadn't happened when I thought it would. I don't like it."

Misha nodded and then they finally kissed. Nothing was different, they fit perfectly as always, Misha's lips a bit rougher, softened by Jensen's and their tongues welcomed each other like two old friends. They kept it slow, neither of them seemed to have the urge to push things. Their hands still caressed each other when Misha slowly ended their kiss. Jensen felt happier now than he had for weeks and his dick was hard as a rock, pressing against Misha's thigh. The morning was getting better and better.

Misha still looked sorry. "You know, with the shooting schedule and yana and Random Acts we won't have much time to see each other."

Jensen nodded. He knew that. It had been like that for the last few years as well, nothing new. Another reason why it had hurt so much that they hadn't managed to see each other during hiatus. 

"I know. But hey, we'll make up for lost time in England." The prospect of the both of them being away from any responsibilities even if just for a few days, would get him through every hiccup, every stumble and every stressful moment of the upcoming half-year.

Misha froze. "Uh...," he licked his lips. "Fuck. Oh God..." he untwined his hand from Jensen and ruffled his own hair. Not a good sign.

"I should have told you before, fuck, I meant to. I didn't know when, how..." he stopped, biting his lips. He looked like he was about to jump out of the window just to get out of here.

The knot was back. More like a huge lump clogging up Jensen's throat. Jensen knew what was coming next, Misha didn't even have to say it. He felt like in one of those stupid comics where a train was coming towards you and whatever you did, the crash remained inevitable. This wasn't happening. And yet it was. Jensen closed his eyes.

"I can't make it to Asylum." Misha sounded broken. And Jensen could feel something break in himself as well. 

"Why?" he asked, opening his eyes again. Misha looked like a wounded puppy. It didn't help at all.

"We are doing an team-meeting of Random Acts with people from all over the US. Took us month to settle for a weekend, find a date where they _all_ could make it." Misha stopped. "I … didn't know that the convention would be held at this weekend when we organized it." He stretched out his hand, stroking Jensen's cheek. A soothing gesture, like petting a wounded animal. Jensen didn't feel wounded, he felt dead.

"You're kidding me, right? Did you forget that Asylum is in May? That Rome is around that time as well?" He wanted to be angry, to shout, but he couldn't. He just felt empty and ... alone.

"No, I didn't. I'm so sorry. It wasn't meant to happen. We can still do the trip some other time…"

"What, like _next_ year?" Jensen interrupted him. "The only thing I hear is that our trip wasn't important enough. You didn't even bother about to tell me that you can't make it, let alone offer an alternative.” Something burst inside Jensen. Again. “I guess it didn't matter that much. It wasn't on your mind. _I_ wasn't on your mind," he added, an acidic tone creeping into his voice.

Misha shook his head. "No, that's not it. I..."

Jensen removed Misha's fingers from his cheek. "I can't." He drew his gaze away from Misha's face, where he saw tears forming in his sad blue eyes.

He couldn't deal with any of this right now. Everything felt fake. The warmth of Misha's skin, the intimate kiss, the lingering feel of Misha's hand in his hair. He needed to get away. Suddenly, the room didn't seem to have enough air for the both of them. He scrambled out of the bed.

Misha immediately got up as well. It just made him move faster. "Jensen, don't leave. Please." It was a plea.

"I can't right now. I just… I need fresh air." He grabbed his clothes in the hallway, dressing as fast as he could. Misha was standing behind him, but he didn't go for clothes or tried to touch him.

"I don't even know why I should stay, it's obvious that it doesn't make a difference to you," he said quietly, anger and sadness fighting a battle inside him. He knew the words which would break Misha's heart as well. Jensen didn't look back when he slipped through the front door.

 ***

 The last time Jensen had felt this devastated must have been when Misha and he had the fallout in 2011. And that had been _his_ fault. His own words 'I don't even know why I should stay' repeated themselves in his head. The angry side in him still felt Misha deserved them, but they also brought back the guilt he had felt five years ago. Now it was too late to take the words back. It looked like it was too late for anything right now.

The chances of Misha coming after him were slim, but a tiny part still hoped for it, no matter how much Jensen didn't want to see much less talk to him in this moment.

No one came out of the building of course, so Jensen called a taxi and went home, changed and survived the morning by drinking four cups of coffee in a row. He pondered whether to call Danneel, but in the end decided against it. She would have been sorry and understanding, but he knew he couldn't handle any civil conversation right now. Neither with Misha nor with anyone else. He wanted to be left alone and brood.

Thus, he was sitting morosely on his camp chair during setup of the next scene, trying to look busy on his phone so no one would try to talk to him. He was glad it was Thursday and he could go home tomorrow.

Even Jared, who sometimes had the sensitivity of a moose for emotional turmoil, had immediately sensed something was up and stopped any prank he had planned on the guest star of this week's episode. That was like a red signal for everyone. Jensen didn't care.

He couldn't get Misha's devastated expression out of his mind when he had said he couldn't come to Asylum. It had been like looking into a mirror, Jensen seeing his own pain in Misha's eyes. Misha knew his cancellation would destroy him, so why the fuck did he do that? How could he say yes to another convention before making sure about Asylum? How could another conventions be more important than the trip they'd set up a year ago? _Because everything is more important,_ a voice whispered in his head. _Hasn’t hiatus told you that?_

A hand softly landed on his arm, scaring him out of his thoughts. He almost fell flat on his face out of his chair.

"Jesus, Jared," he exclaimed. "You're a moose, not a damn cat."

The tall man mumbled a sorry and draped himself into a chair next to Jensen. He was sporting his We-need-to-talk-I'm-worried-expression. _Oh god._

"You want to tell me what's going on?"

Jensen shook his head. "I'm not really in the mood to talk." Jared had been so childishly happy when Jensen had told him about their trip to England, he would probably be as sad as himself. For Jensen's liking there were already enough sad people involved in this.

"Okay," Jared said and looked away pointedly. He was actually playing his damn Sam-card.

Jensen rubbed his face. _Fine._ "The trip to England Misha and I wanted to do …  he told me yesterday he can't make it to the convention. Ohter plans."

Jared looked back at him, his jaw literally dropping. In other circumstances, Jensen might have found it funny.

"We didn't see each other during hiatus, either. He was too busy," Jensen continued feeling more hollow every second. "I ..." … _don't seem to be important enough anymore_. Jensen didn't dare to say it out loud. It would make it all too real.

Jared was silent for a moment, his face an expression of worry. "I'm sorry."

Jensen shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, me too." _I'm also really scared._

A longer moment of silence followed. Jensen watched his friend, who was clearly chewing over something.

"Misha is doing a lot of stuff, isn't he?" Jared finally asked. It sounded more like a rhetorical question so Jensen only nodded.

"You know, when I felt everything was too much for me and I couldn't handle anything anymore one of my therapists explained that I _am_ literally handling too many things. Like work, family, friends. If it's too much you can't give the things the same attention, no matter how much they matter to you. You can try and work as hard as you want, but one or more things will fall to the wayside. And that can include things you find most important. When I was at a very bad place anything more than five commitments at the same time was too much."

Jensen looked at his friend questioningly. He could see where this was going, but it didn't look like it was going anywhere good.

"When I see Misha he looks like he has a hundred things on his plate." Jared started to count on his fingers "family, friends, you, random acts, acting," he started to use his second hand, "I should probably hold up more than three for RA alone, but anyway, that's already more than five and I haven't even mentioned yana, hobbies, art projects or conventions which definitely is a thing of its own."

Jensen stared at his friend. "Thanks," he replied dryly. "Now tell me, why am I one of the things which are left in the dust?"

His friend sighed. "All these things demand time, plans and dates. If you are not really careful and you lose track and anything can get lost. No matter how much you care about it. Actually,” Jared sighed, "sometimes the things and people closest to you are the first ones you neglect. Because, you know, you think they are the most stable ones, so you just hope they'll sort themselves out. You can ask Gen about it, it wasn't fun for her, either."

Jensen sighed. "I see your point. But I can't help it. I feel… forgotten." For some reason, JJ's doll with the red curls popped up in his mind. She had kept on and on about how much she wanted that doll and when she had finally gotten it she had played with it daily, cared for it 24/7 until a friend of hers had given her an Elsa-doll. Since then, red&curly had been lying in a corner, neglected. "Like he's got newer and shinier toys now." Jensen shrugged helplessly.

His friend looked at him from the side. "Dude, that's bullshit. You know Misha, right? He'd never hurt you on purpose. If he didn't want to be with you anymore he'd tell you."

A bitter laugh escaped Jensen. "I'm really an open book, ain't I?"

"Kinda. I think that's one of the reasons Danneel and Misha love you."

Jared jumped up. Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen saw the director approaching.

Jared grabbed his shoulder, getting Jensen's attention. "You need to talk to him. Give him a chance to fix this. He maybe hasn't done his best lately, but you know Misha, he's probably feeling as bad as you now."

"What if he doesn't want to fix anything?" Jensen hissed back.

Jared shot him a piercing look. "Again, you _do_ know Misha, right? He'd never lead you on."

Jensen nodded. No, that wasn't Misha.

His friend lowered his voice. "Please talk to him. For the sake of us all, you both need to avoid another 2011."

Jensen nodded. The killer-argument.

  ***

Thanks to Jared's vow not to prank anyone today they made it through shooting relatively quickly without larger hiccups. Jared hadn't come back to the subject, but resorted to distract Jensen by telling him the most absurd stories about the people on set. (The best was the one of one of the grips who had locked himself out of his ski hut, butt naked. He had to ride on his dog sled to the next village 20 miles away, draped  in an old horse rug.) Jensen was sure half of them were lies, but he appreciated his friend's effort to take his mind off of things. Jared even invited Jensen over for their sports-evening, but Jensen declined. The last thing he needed tonight was guys in short pants.

Instead, Jensen went to his own place, devoured the leftover pizza from the fridge and skyped with Danneel for a bit. She filled him in about what they'd all done over the last three days and if Jensen asked more detailed questions than normal and dragged out the chat longer than usual (until she told him that Gen was waiting in living room and she needed to go), she didn't call him out on it. He felt bad for not telling her right away, but she had enough trouble on her plate lately and this was too complicated to talk about over a bad internet connection while a friend waited in the other room anyway. After all, he would see Danneel tomorrow and he had the nagging feeling that he would appreciate her shoulder to lean on when he told her.

He always missed JJ and his wife, but today it was so much worse. No surprise. He longed for a kiss, Danneel's smile, JJ's grabby hands and infectious laughter.

Normally, he welcomed the rare occasions when he had an evening alone, when he didn't have to stay on set past dinnertime, when he got to spend the evening with Jared or had a chance to stay with Misha. A chance like yesterday. Jensen sighed. That had certainly turned into a nightmare.

He eyed his half-finished copy of _A Clash of Kings_ on the couch table, but knew he wasn't in the mood for reading. He would just pour himself a drink and watch something on Netflix. _Netflix and chill_. Jensen had laughed so loud when he read the line, calling Misha immediately to make fun of it, only to realize Misha didn't know the meaning. Jensen knowing the meaning of a sexual euphemism before Misha had felt like he'd won a battle. Misha 14 : Jensen 1. Misha had smiled so stupidly about Jensen's pride.  That was one of the features that Jenson loved about him; he didn't mind losing. To Jensen, at least.

Trying to shake of that particular memory, Jensen peered into his liqueur cabinet. The first bottle he spotted was the damn whiskey. _Of course._ Misha had given him this bottle as a joke, saying it was the cheapest Scottish whiskey he had been able to find after he searched every store in Washington.

Jensen couldn't suppress a smile. He had laughed for five minutes straight when Misha had given him the bottle for his birthday, accompanied by an extremely horrible whiskey glass, showing a squirrel licking a man's butt. Misha was the best thing that had ever happened to him. That's what Jensen had said back then.

He... that was still the case. Wasn't it? He had thought of two moments with Misha in the last minute and both had been bubbles of joy fighting the hard knot in his chest. But they were only memories. The present looked far more bleak.

In a masochistic streak, Jensen found the godawful tumbler in the cabinet and filled it generously.

Netflix offered some new episodes of _CSI_ he hadn't seen yet, but his heart wasn't in it. He watched them, but his mind kept replaying the scene from this morning while he refilled the glass whenever the bottom became visible.

Misha's warm lips, his fingers stroking through Jensen's hair, his broken voice, the worried blue of his eyes. Jensen didn't know if he wanted to concentrate on the few good memories or dwell on Misha's helpless look. The words 'Can’t make it' played on a loop in his mind. They became more and more slurred the longer Jensen was sitting there drinking, but he couldn't drown them. They were ingrained, Misha's voice getting sadder in every repetition.

What had Jared said? Misha was handling too many things. Weren't they all juggling too much _stuff_? How different were they there? Could he really blame Misha's forgetfulness on that? 

Jensen held up his hand and counted. Danneel, JJ - or was that one finger? - the show, friends, Jared (because let's face it, he was too much to put him into the same category as all his other friends), conventions. 

That was already five and he hadn't counted any of his hobbies, or, he added a sixth finger, or  ... Misha. Jensen looks at his fingers. At his other hand. Misha required at least three fingers to account for the pure joy when they spent time together, for their shared feelings, Misha's infectious laughter, his weird sense of humor, both his thoughtful and his inappropriate art, for the way his eyes turned soft when he touched Jensen's naked skin, for the way they always stayed gentle even when they were both in the mood for playing it rough. Jensen shook himself out of that train of thought. But yeah, one finger didn't do Misha justice at all. He chuckled. He was sure Misha would agree.

He counted the fingers. Eight. But now Misha had more fingers than Danneel, that wasn't fair. He added two for her.

Was he handling too many things as well? If _he_ already had too many things on his hands - Jensen laughed, what a stupid pun - what about Misha then?

Nine fingers were too much to handle. And if he counted Misha's commitments he'd probably need a whole team. A team of hands. He giggled.

Jensen tried to focus. Suddenly it looked like he held up 18 fingers. Damn cheap ... cheapest whiskey.

The phone rang. Once, twice. Jensen looked at it as if it was from outer space. Misha's picture was flashing on the screen. It was one where he had _that_ smile, nose all crinkled up and sparkle in his eyes. Jensen loved the nose-crinkle. He sighed loudly.

Why he'd allowed Jared to put callers' pictures on his phone was lost on him. Probably to prevent him from sending out Twitter texts like 'I eat children' or the like.

He remembered when he'd taken that picture. They'd been at the beach alone together for an evening, their wives had literally thrown them out of the house to 'do something romantic together'. Well-behaved as they were they had gone to the beach, enjoyed the freaking sunset, talked about everything and nothing, even held hands like a domestic couple while stealing kisses.

It had felt so comforting.

Another fucking happy memory.

Jensen had taken the picture with the evening sun in the background, stating that it looked like a halo above Misha's head, making him an angel. It hadn't even been a joke on his side, but Misha had burst into laughter, a mix of silliness and affection. It had made Jensen giddy that he could do that to Misha. Didn't seem like either one of them could make the other laugh anymore.

Had that trip only been last year? It felt like ages ago.

Jensen's finger hovered over the accept-button. Nothing had been comforting sunny beaches for a while now.

So what if Misha was calling him to ... to end things? Cutting him out of his life, cause he was too much to handle?

His left hand was still holding up all fingers. And Jared had also asked him to talk to Misha. _Fine._ He tapped the green button. "You are quite much to handle yourself, I have now eighteen fingers, you know that?" he blurted.

Silence on the other end. Jensen wondered for a second if Jared had played with the picture and it was his mom on the phone, but then he realized with satisfactory triumph that no, that wasn't it. He had actually managed to shut Misha up.

Jensen had to smirk. To make Misha  speechless was as rare as ... as them having any time together lately.

He closed his eyes. Everyone said he was an _affectionate_ and _happy_ drunk. Danneel rolled her eyes at them every time. The others had no idea about the extent of his mood swings when he was drunk, going from overly joyful to sullen in a heartbeat. Danneel knew better of course.

"Misha?" he finally asked when the silence seemed to drag on.

"Sorry, I was just picturing you with eighteen fingers. I know, you've always said you don't have enough fingers to touch me everywhere you want to touch at once, but I didn't think you were actually going to grow more fingers to make it happen."

"Very funny." Jensen took the whiskey glass into the kitchen. _Enough of that for today._

More silence followed. The uncomfortableness he had forgotten to feel for a second was back. He remembered why he hated phones. Normally, Misha tried his best to take the edge off of them by filling every call with his enthusiasm and babbling about his newest project or his Gishwishes. Gish… Gishwes. _Ah damn._ And anyway, that had been a long time ago.

"Mish? Are you there?"

"Yes, of course. I'm here." He sounded uneasy, hesitant.

"Why are you calling?" What a stupid question. Of course he knew what it was about and oh man, he wanted to get it over it.

The anger, frustration and pain the whiskey had mulled down came bubbling back to the surface. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Jensen shook his head, even though his friend couldn't see it. "No Mish, of course not. I'm just," he tried to order his thoughts, his head was swimming, " - lost. I mean, what am I to you? It's like I haven't seen you for years. I know family's important. And all these great things you are doing. I mean, I get it, I really do, you make lots of people happy. Other people. Other people who are more important to you than I am." He grimaced. Fuck, saying it out loud _hurt_. "Man, I know I'm not first on your list. Okay, fine. But I'm not fifth, either. Am I, you know, even on your list at all anymore?" He'd half shouted at the beginning of his rant, but by the last sentence his energy had crumbled. All that it left behind was a quiet sort of desperation. In its own way, it felt worse than 2011. Misha had been deeply in his heart even back then. But now? Now it felt like a part of himself was missing when Misha wasn't around.

But on the line, there was only silence and static. That's why he hated phones. You couldn't see people. Their expressions, what they were thinking. If they got angry or sad. It was like speaking into the void.

"Jensen, listen," Misha's voice had a sudden stern tone to it. "You _are_ on my list. You are very high up on my list. I know I fucked up, I've hurt you. I am pissed about myself, but I'll fix this. If you … you need to give me a chance."

Jensen snorted. _Chances_. "Fine, how about this weekend then?" He knew that he was mean. Mish had another one of his thousand important things, he remembered, something about flowers… Misha had made a commitment there and he couldn't let people down.

"I ... aren't you in Texas?" Misha sounded cornered.

"I'll make time. Will you?" Jensen couldn't drop it, he knew he was hitting home. Another short silence.

“Jensen, you know I can't." Now Misha sounded lost as well. "I've told you about it."

Jensen nodded. This wasn't going anywhere. It was just tiring. "To be honest, I'm exhausted, drunk and need sleep. You aren't helping." He put the whiskey back into the cabinet and made his way to the bathroom.

"You need to make up your mind. I remember you saying that quickies in my trailer weren't enough for you. Now I say four hours in your apartment without even coffee in the morning aren't enough for me. You can have your damn chance on Tuesday when we are both back on set. If that's convenient with your schedule."

"I…" Misha sighed. "Yes, I'll be there on Tuesday." Whatever else he had wanted to say he had given up on it.

"Great. See you then." And with that Jensen hung up and tossed his phone back onto the couch. He really hated phones. And whiskey.

 ***

 Jensen regretted the whole conversation the next morning when he woke up with a splitting headache. He regretted a lot of conversations lately. He planned to shove the whiskey up Jared's ass at the next possibility. He and his damn counting of commitments. The guy gave the worst advice sometimes.

The weekend didn't go much better. The headache was gone, but despite Danneel's best efforts and JJ being as adorable as always Jensen's thoughts stayed in a frenzy, wavering between worrying about Misha and blaming one or both of them for the whole mess. More than once he wished they'd not come up with the England-idea at all. Not that it would have made the situation any better. But maybe the downfall would have been less steep, maybe Jensen could have dragged himself through the situation longer.

When unoccupied, his mind went back to the call, the bits and pieces of the conversation which made _him_ look like an utter ass filling him with guilt. Although he felt that Misha had put them into this mess, his goal wasn't to do payback. He wanted to make things good again. Why he'd thought it would be a good idea to wait until Tuesday for that was beyond him. The last time Misha and him had been without contact for more than five days (even if sometimes it was only a short message or two) had been in 2011. And he was not going to think about that.

Stewing in his own thoughts over the days at least cleared some of the fog in his brain and confirmed what he had told Misha on the phone. He was not willing to go back to mere quickies in the trailer and a boat-trip once a year. He missed the times they had to themselves, he missed spending _time_ with Misha, whatever they were doing and he wasn't willing to go back to be just one of the people Misha had sex with. For that, they had been through too much. For that, there were too many emotions involved.

Danneel was all patience all weekend, cuddlier than ever, listening to his garbled thoughts and random fits, even staying calm and soothing Jensen when he had his five minutes of being a whiny brat. ("Why hasn't he called?" Danneel gave him a small kiss. "Jensen, honey, he _did,_ remember? And then you told him not to.")

She was positive that they could resolve everything, encouraging Jensen to argue his point on Tuesday, but asking him more than once to let Misha actually talk and to listen to him. He didn't know where she took the confidence from, but Jensen trusted her view. Sometimes she seemed to know Misha better than him, a thought Jensen found comforting and disturbing at the same time.

 

Still, Jensen couldn't shake the nervousness when he was back in his trailer on Tuesday, pacing up and down like a leopard behind bars. They normally met at his trailer when Jensen was on set first. He resolved to change that once they were through this mess. Waiting could be a bitch.

He tried not to think of the possibility that Misha might not show up at all. He was sure that…

The door to his trailer opened and Misha stormed inside. He looked like he'd run here, his cheeks flushed, his hair tussled and he was actually panting. _He jogs all the time and still pants after sprinting five yards. Tough mudder is gonna be fun_ , his brain commented unhelpfully. Still, In his black AC/DC-shirt underneath a blue button shirt, Misha looked as good as ever. If Jensen hadn't been that tense he would have acknowledged Misha was practically walking sex and one of them would already be pressed up against a wall.

"We'll fix this," Misha announced without further introduction, resolution gleaming in his eyes. "But you have to let me talk. And actually listen." With two fast steps he was in Jensen's space, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him. It was nothing like the kiss they’d shared last Thursday morning. There was no slow exploration of lips on lips, no gentle start, but a dominant force behind it. Jensen was so surprised by the _attack_ he let it happen without any resistance, let himself get swept away by Misha's lips pressing on his, his tongue basically forcing his way to Jensen's, both soon entwined. There was nothing to taste besides a faint flavor of Misha's morning coffee. It was as if Misha had woken up and run here, ignoring any of his morning routines. Misha's hands were warm even though it was cold outside, his thumbs stroking tenderly across Jensen's face while his tongue kept up its intense exploration. Misha's eyes were dimmed from the dark light in the trailer, but Jensen saw the spark of affection, of love in it and for a moment everything was right.

The kiss certainly got the message across. If Jensen was willing to make things right, today Misha was even more so.

Misha finally peeled himself away, his chest heaving from the lack of breath. He let go of Jensen's face, but instead took his hands, gripping them firmly.

Jensen allowed himself a small smile, eyes still locked with his friend. _So blue_. He could never imagine not being allowed to look at them this closely. "I'm listening." His voice was rough from the kiss.

Misha's tongue darted out in a nervous gesture, his hands gripping Jensen's tighter. For some reason that was more reassuring than a long speech.

Misha swallowed. This was hard for him as well. Jensen's heart swelled with affection. He was suddenly certain that they would mend things. Neither would let the other one go.

"I am sorry about the mess I caused. I really am." Misha's voice took on a grave tone, almost like Cas when he tried to get a point across. "I still can't come to Asylum. I can't change that."  
Jensen made a face. He hadn't expected anything else. If Misha could have made it possible he would have. It still hurt.

"But you won't be alone in England. Jared will accompany you there. I know that wasn't the plan, but he understood when I explained."

Jensen gasped. He realized he hadn't thought about the fact that he would have been with neither of his closest friends if Jared didn't come with him. "You asked him to come to the convention for my sake?"

Misha smiled. "No, he called me about it. He is a wonderful friend."

Jensen nodded. That was true and it _was_ a great relief that he could rely on his friend at the convention.

"He also explained the counting," Misha smirked and wiggled his fingers.

Jensen felt his ears reddening. He had hoped that would never come up again.

Misha's smile stayed. "We will go on a trip. Just you and me. I've talked with Dee and Vicki. We'll have the week. I thought we could go to Florida. If you … if you want to."

Jensen was perplexed to say the least. "I ..."

Misha let go Jensen's hand and reached behind him, producing a ... kind of book? ... out of nowhere.

"Here, it's all in there." Misha handed the book over to Jensen. It had a solid back, the pages thread-stitched. The cover read "Datebook".

Jensen looked confused but opened it. It turned out to be a calendar.

Every double page represented a year, every side six months. The last page was for 2055.

He flipped through it. The lines for June were always partly covered with 'Holiday with Misha', an exact date next to it. Every second month or so there was a weekend secured for their families or just the two of them.

There were activities written next to the dates. "These are only ideas, but I wanted to give a few suggestions, so it'll be easier to set places to meet," Misha added tenderly.

Jensen spotted _zoo_ , _beach_ , _building a fort_ , _fishing_ and _golfing_ on it. Jensen grinned when he thought about the idea of Misha holding a golf club. He didn't know what _woods_ could possible mean, but as long as one of them took a compass with them they hopefully would make it back. Oh, and this year's May first and second day were covered with the cryptic _Fun in Texas_. Cryptic for outsiders. Jensen knew exactly what it meant.

His finger went to October 2016, a bubble of fondness bursting inside him when he read _Thanksgiving at Misha’s. Don’t forget to bring beer._

Jensen was speechless. He browsed through the pages, perplexed. He knew Misha didn't just write any dates down, that he had talked with Danneel and Vicki - and who knew who else, probably Dean, Bobby and God himself - to make sure those weeks were free, to force everyone to write the dates down, to make them one hundred percent foolproof. A wave of love crushed over him. Only Misha could come up with a calendar being valid for the next … 40 years.

This calendar was another example of Misha's wonderful personality, a statement of how he made him feel cherished and loved. It immediately became one of the million reasons Jensen loved him.

Jensen swallowed. "I had no idea such calendars existed." It wasn't what he wanted to say, but the easiest thing to get out.

"They don't."

Jensen looked up. "You ... you made this over the last few days?"

Misha shuffled his feet, looking a bit sheepish. _Of course._

"I got the same one - well, almost. I switched the colors on the cover - anyway, I got the same one for myself. So that _I_ will remember everything." He looked more serious. "And I will remember."

Jensen looked back at the cover again, nodding. The words were handwritten in blue, Jensen's favorite color, the cover in orange, Misha's favorite. Jensen swallowed again. It was a message of love, an apology and a promise all in one.

"You expect us to stay together for the next 40 years?" His voice broke a bit.

 

 

Misha gripped him firmly by his shoulder. "No, I expect us to stay together until one of us dies, but I didn't want to make the book too thick."

Jensen burst out laughing. He also wanted to grab Misha and kiss him again, but his body started shaking he was laughing so hard. Others would probably say that it wasn't that funny, but to him it was the best joke he ever heard.

A wave of relief washed over him with the laughter. Jensen had thought that he needed a speech full of apologies and promises, but he held both and much more in his hand. It was solid proof that Jensen was on Misha's list. At the top of his list. A three-dimensional object he could look at for the next forty years, he could see and feel. Nothing of that digital crap. Also something he could throw at Misha if things ever turned awful again.  
"You know," Jensen turned the calendar around in his hand. "I was scared you would say take it or leave it."

Misha's expression changed, worry creeping back into it. "I understand and I am sorry - again. I haven't been a very good boyfriend and I was afraid I fucked it up completely. But I don't want to fuck it up." Misha stepped closer, giving Jensen's lips a soft peck.  
"Of course the dates are only the minimum of what we can do." Another gentle kiss. "If I start to disappear on you again I politely ask you to smack me on the head with the calendar". He gave Jensen another peck. "That's why it's hardcover."

Jensen laughed. "All right. I will. Or maybe you'll need to smack me. How do you know we'll have..." he opened the page for 2034 at random, "the 18th to 20th August in 19 years? Maybe we are doing movies or another TV-show? Or maybe you're swimming across the ocean? Planting kale? Taking over the world?"

Misha moved closer if that was possible, his expression taking on a solemn note again. "It's our responsibility to keep those dates free. And if there's absolutely no chance, like say, if Scorsese calls, then we have to agree on a new date. Immediately. Otherwise, I say Scorsese or the kale have to go."

Jensen nodded. He loved what he heard and what he saw. It was inevitable that obstacles would get in their way, but the set dates gave them both security, giving them something to look forward to when their schedules kept them be apart for longer. "Are you saying I'm more important than Scorsese or kale?"

Misha wrapped his arm around Jensen, drawing them into a hug. "More important than both of them together," he whispered.

Jensen allowed himself to melt into Misha's embrace. "Deal," he breathed into Misha's neck, kissing the soft skin there.

Under Misha's arm Jensen's tension melted away, the knots which had formed over the last month finally disappearing, replaced by a feeling of happiness and love.

"I thought you'd give me a long speech," Jensen whispered against Misha's neck.

Misha shakes his head lightly. "I thought so too, but you didn't seem too fond of my attempts at explaining myself and you were right with that. It needed a bit more than just empty words." Misha kissed his neck, moving away a bit, bringing their foreheads together in an intimate touch. "I was so worried I would lose you. Do you still want the long speech? You know me, I can talk your ear off any day."

Jensen shook his head. "Nah, I'm good." The turmoil inside him was gone. "I'm better than good."

"I'll try to keep it that way." Misha smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> The reason why Misha wasn't at Asylum 16 is (as the whole story is *wink*) fictional. I asked him at PurCon2 why he wasn't there, but sadly he didn't answer it.


End file.
